


Fine Line

by fbiagentdipper



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Harry, Drug Abuse, Evil management, Gay Panic, Head Injury, M/M, Memory Loss, One Direction Reunion, Past Relationship(s), Post-Zayn One Direction, Recreational Drug Use, Sad Harry Styles, Sick Fic, Slow Burn, Temporary Amnesia, Top Louis Tomlinson, one direction - Freeform, stoner harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fbiagentdipper/pseuds/fbiagentdipper
Summary: Mr. Styles,Your presence is requested next Thursday, November the 17th at 3:00 PM for a meeting at LA Studios. Please remember that you are still under contract and failing to attend will be considered a breach of said contract. We look forward to seeing you and discussing the future of your music career with the team.Thank you,LA Studios
Relationships: Briana Jungwirth/Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 60





	1. Preface

Mr. Styles, 

Your presence is requested next Thursday November the 17 at 3:00 PM for a meeting at LA Studios. Please remember that you that you are still under contract and failing to attend will be considered a breech of said contract. We look forward to seeing you and discussing the future of your music career with the team. 

Thank you,  
LA Studios


	2. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The set up is happening kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been edited again, just me going through and being a perfectionist.

The walls were white - too white. Staring at them made Harry's eyes hurt. Everything in the room made Harry's eyes hurt. It was all perfect and shiny. Whoever decorated was going for an all-white modern decor that made everything feel sterile and impersonal, like a hospital, but maybe that was appropriate for the building. A reflection of his old management's values - all aesthetic, no heart. 

He checked his watch again. _2:45. Still early._

Like so many things in life, Harry never thought he'd be back here in this room, anxiety fueling his every thought as he waited to find out how people wanted him to live his life now. He knew that kind of thinking wasn't very fair after all when they – he, he thought correcting himself, not wanting to fall back into his old ways of group thinking so quickly just because he was back in the same old room – was young and just starting out, it had made sense. He didn't know any better to have a say in what he sang, how he dressed... who he loved, but things were different now, which was why being back at his old management's office was even more confusing. 

After the break, although they never said it out loud, they all knew it was permanent. Really, they knew once Zayn left that it was over. They finished the tour because they didn't want to disappoint the fans and released the album to fulfill the five-album requirement for the contract, and that was that. No more running nonstop. No more fights and media coverups. No more One Direction. 

Probably, they wanted to sign him for his solo work since he'd been such a success so far, but since he absolutely no plans of ever coming back to this place again, hopefully, this would be a short meeting. Maybe he would time for a manicure later, he thought idly, as he noticed that index finger's polish was chipped. 

His thoughts were cut by the sound of the door clicking open and the face of someone he hadn't seen in a long time. 

"Liam," he said, shocked to see his old bandmate standing in front of him. He looked good; he was in a suit. Harry had almost forgotten how Liam always wore suits to meetings, and he'd grown out his hair, which Harry thought suited him – made him look older and more distinguished.

"Harry," Liam responded, sounding much less shocked, but his tone filled with its usual sweetness. The way that his warm eyes crinkled as he smiled, made Harry stand at once to pull his old friend into a long-overdue hug. He was bad at keeping in touch – he knew that – but despite their creative differences, he loved Liam. He was sturdy and dependable and selfless, sometimes to a fault, but always kind and a good friend. 

"I- I didn't know," Harry started. 

"That I'd be here?" Liam asked.

"Well, yeah," he admitted, feeling quite sheepish and narcissistic, thinking that the meeting would only be about him. 

Slowly, almost as if time had sped up around him while his brain processed what it all meant, he came to a realization, saying, "but wait. Does that mean-?" Once again, however, he was cut off mid-thought as the door opened again with the rest of his former band walking through. Niall, clearly laughing at something just said, made his way through the door, and Harry could help but think about how grown up he looked with his brown hair. Then there was Louis, and damn if even after all these years, the sight of him still didn't take his breath away. 

"Lou," he sighed, as though his presence alone was the one thing on earth he needed. Quickly, he reminded himself it was also the one thing he could have and composed himself before he could make Louis feel uncomfortable. "And Niall!" he exclaimed, hugging his Irish friend. 

As Niall moved on to hug Liam, Harry felt another rush of anxiety even more intense than when he'd just been sitting waiting for the meeting to begin. When they made eye contact, Harry swore his heart stopped for a moment, but he sucked in a breath and went in for a friendly hug that lasted not as long as the way he hugged the other two, and much shorter than he would have liked. Louis wanted boundaries, though. He had made that clear when Harry came out to him, saying that he loved Harry, but given the context, it would be better to have space - physical and emotional - and their relationship had never been the same since. Harry hated himself for making Louis uncomfortable. Somewhere in his head, he knew that he wasn't to blame – or at least that's what his therapist keeps telling him – but he couldn't help it. All he wanted was to be around Louis, even if it couldn't be the way that he wanted. He wanted Louis to be okay, which was why he couldn't hold back asking, "how are you?" as he looked deep into his eyes, trying to search for an honest answer. 

Louis shrugged, noncommittally, the way that Harry had gotten familiar with since Jo and Fizz passed, and said, "I'm alright." Sensing that Harry was unconvinced, though, he added, "a bit confused to why here, though," trying to lighten the mood. 

"Yeah, me too," Niall chimed in. "Did we all get the same cryptic email?" 

"About the mandatory meeting and how not being here would be a breach of contract?" Harry asked. 

"Yup," Louis said. "I thought we had fulfilled our contract with Made in the AM."

"Me too," Liam said. 

Harry had a sick feeling in his stomach that made him feel the need to sit down before he projectile vomited all over the top white walls. Although, he thought as he sat, perhaps it would be the splash of colors this place needed. The rest of the boys followed his lead, taking their seats and seemingly oblivious to Harry's sudden anxiety. 

"Don't get me wrong it's great to see you, lads, but I don't get why or I guess more to the point, how, we're still under contract," Liam said, not realizing that the door behind him was being opened as more men in suits walked in, files and poster boards in hand. 

"Well that, Liam, is actually quite simple," an overly energetic voice boomed. Harry didn't need to look at his face to know who it was; he could tell by the voice alone filled with its fake enthusiasm that usually veiled snide remarks hurled at Harry – although occasionally the other boys as well – that it was Rob, One Direction's old manager. "You lads signed to produce five albums and-"

"If this is about the greatest hits album, then you could put that together in five minutes, and this meeting could have been an email," Louis interjected. 

"If you'd let me finish, Mr. Tomlinson," Rob said, still cheerily but slipping in a hint of authority that seemed to shut Louis up. 

"Yes, you're correct that the greatest hits are a part of the contract, but what this meeting is about is the Made in the AM tour." 

A stunned silence fell over the room. Harry couldn't believe it. He'd loved his time in One Direction, but there was a reason he'd been the one to suggest a break. Near the end, Louis couldn't even stand to be in the same room as him alone, wouldn't go into the hotels, just staying on the bus. He had made up plenty of excuses. Harry knew the truth, though, Louis was just plain grossed out by him, and now – now it would be even worse. What with Harry finally being free to express himself, working through all the trauma, and getting ready to publicly come out. Oh, God. He couldn't do that anymore. Louis would kill him. Harry felt panic, genuine panic rise in him like he hadn't felt in a long time. 

"What?" Niall asked, breaking what Harry now realized was a very long awkward silence. 

"Your contract included a tour with each of the albums put out, and because of the break, Made in the AM never toured. Management has decided that now is the time to start up again. We'll begin prepping right away, creating buzz and rumors, before making an official announcement a week before tickets go live." 

"You're kidding," Liam deadpanned, breaking his usual friendly and professional persona he had in meetings. 

"Not at all," Rob replied as his team started setting up poster boards that contained dates and venues they were already contacting and booking. Rob meanwhile passed out folders with schedules to each of the boys. Harry sat staring at his blankly. Once again, his whole life was being controlled by someone else, and he had no say. Trapped. No way out. 

"Wait a minute," he said, suddenly. "If this is all in our contract, why isn't Zayn here?" he asked, hoping that maybe he'd found a loophole. 

"Mr. Malik bought out his contract in 2015," Rob replied curtly. 

"So what if I would like to also buy out my contract?" 

"LA studios owns most of the music industry, Mr. Styles. We could make it very difficult for anyone to ever find work in this town again if we saw fit," he answered. His lip was curled into a smile. His smile was something that scares Harry more than most things. It was like a crack in a stone-cold mask, rather than genuine means of affection. 

Harry, however, stood up, gathered his courage, and tried to remember everything his therapist had told him about asserting himself. He wasn't an asshole; he just had boundaries. Right? Right. 

"I think that I can find someone who would be willing to work with me, no matter what you say or do." 

He turned to leave, feeling quite good about himself, when Rob said, "I'm sure you could, Mr. Styles, but I wonder if your bandmates could say the same. Not all of them have enjoyed all the success you have... Some studios might not be willing to take the risk."

"What?" he asked, frozen in tracks on his path to the door. 

Rob cleared his throat and took a moment to adjust his tie, quite enjoying the feeling of power he was lording over all the boys. "Let me make myself quite clear," he said as he walked around the table quickly. His words paused, but he didn't stop moving until he was in front of Harry, blocking his path to the door. "If you walk away right now, Mr. Styles," Rob was walking again although this time right at Harry, forcing him to back up, "we will drop and blackball every single one of you."

"But-"

"No buts." Harry felt himself sitting back down in his chair, although he didn't remember deciding to do so. "After all who would want to work with a narcissist whose ego is too big to fulfill their contract as written," Rob said, twisting the final knife into Harry that made him sit still. 

Maybe it was that he felt himself slipping back into old patterns of allowing himself to be treated like he was him underneath their shoe. Maybe it was that Rob hit a nerve with the narcissist bit, a constant fear Harry always nagging him at the back of his mind, after all, he let his ego get big enough for a second to think that he was better than the other boys and had the right to walk away and leave them all hanging. Or maybe, it was the awkward looks on all the other boys' faces as he sat down, telling him how much of an ass he was, but Harry could feel himself slipping away. No, not slipping, sinking. Sinking into a deep pit of self-pity and loathing. He couldn't bring himself to listen to the rest of the meeting. It didn't matter anyway. He had no say in what was to come. All he had to do was show up, which they would make sure he did, smile, pretend to know where in the world he was, and sing. That's all there was to touring really. At least that's what he tried to tell himself. 

"Harry?" A voice said. Looking over he saw expecting faces looking at him. He must have missed something. 

"So sorry," he said awkwardly. "Could someone repeat that? I couldn't hear it."

"I reminded you of a section of your contract that is specific to you-"

"I remember," he interjected before Rob could get any further. How could he forget the don't-be-gay clause they had worked specifically into his contract, stating that under no circumstances was he allowed to publically come out. When he first found out, he'd been furious and demanded a lawyer, said he'd do as he damn well pleased. That's when management sat him down and told him that they weren't homophobic, that it was everyone else. He'd be in danger while traveling to certain foreign countries, and even parts of America, wrong as it might sound. Besides, they told him, it wasn't part of One Direction's image. It was the last part that let him know that they hadn't cared about whether or not the 17-year-old was safe, they just cared about the image, the money. Nothing else. 

It was that night he went back to the flat he shared with Louis at the time and fell into his arms crying and told him the whole ordeal, expecting comfort and sympathy from his friend, only to have his day take an even worse turn. He could remember the events as clear as day. 

~

_Harry felt Louis's warm comforting arms leave him, which left Harry confused. He leaned in harder to Lou's chest, only to be pushed, albeit softly, away. "Harry," Louis said, "are you telling me that you're gay?"_

_"I- I, yeah?" Harry said meekly. "I thought you knew."_

_Suddenly Louis stood up and began pacing, a nervous habit he had. Usually whenever he got like this Harry found a way to distract the older man, either with bad jokes, or food, or movies. This time, though, Harry was too upset and confused to even know where to begin._

_"God, no wonder the fans have been going crazy with this Larry shit!" Louis suddenly exclaimed. "How could you do this?"_

_"I- I don't - I'm sorry, Lou, really!"_

_"No, you're not! Oh my god, it all makes sense. You've been encouraging them from the start. You wanted it," he accused. "You liked it!"_

_"No, it's not like that," he insisted. He'd be lying if he said he didn't have feelings for Louis, but he'd been doing everything in his power to repress it, happy with just being friends. Happy to have Louis in his life at all._

_"I need some space," Louis said._

_With that, he grabbed his coat and keys and was making his way out the door when Harry said, "please, Lou, don't leave. I need you."_

_"And I need you to stay away."_

~

"Good," Rob answered, already back to his overly enthused tone, then added, "so I expect next time we meet you won't look like a five-year-old playing dress-up in his grandma's closet?"

"Hey!" Niall exclaimed, "that's rude."

It was too late, though. Harry already felt self-conscious in his brightly colored jumper with painted nails and a plethora of mismatching rings. This morning it had felt like fun like he was comfortable enough to express himself and good for the winter chill in the air, now he just felt silly. 

"It's alright," Harry said, already resigning himself to whatever this next year had in store, better to face it head-on than pretend it wasn't happening. He knew what meant was that he looked too gay, and he'd better change it. He wouldn't have brought it up right after mentioning his contract specifically if that hadn't been what he meant. 

If Harry had looked up, he would have seen his bandmates looking at him with sympathy, all well aware that their management team had always been the hardest on their youngest member, but Harry kept his eyes down, picking off his nail polish nervously. 

"If that's all," Liam said, clearly trying to wrap everything up as quickly as possible. 

"I suppose it is, however, please review the music, the social media schedule, and of course the meeting schedule. I'll see you all very soon. I'm sure." 

As Harry left, he knew he should probably call his therapist or at least a friend, but all he could bring himself to think was maybe he could still somehow sneak one last manicure in before not being allowed to paint his nails for a long time. Just as he was about to slip into his car, however, he felt a hand grab him. He flinched and pulled back. When he saw who it was holding him, however, he gasped and dropped his keys. 

"Sorry," Louis said. "I was calling your name, but you didn't respond." 

"Guess I zoned out," Harry muttered. 

"I just-" Louis said and then looked off. For a while, he was quiet, like he couldn't make up his mind about something. Finally, he asked, "are you okay?" A repeat of the question he'd asked Louis earlier that day. 

Suddenly, Harry understood Louis's earlier reaction as he found himself shrugging, noncommittally, and muttering, "I'm alright."


	3. Two

When Harry first came out to Louis, he panicked; he knew he did. It was just Louis had been denying the part of him that obviously was attracted to men for so long, and Harry, well he was Harry, and impossible not to fall in love with. His smile, his dumb jokes, his never-ending love and kindness towards people who didn’t even deserve it - God knows Louis didn’t deserve his kindness - and every time Louis was around Harry, he was treated with that same kindness that never failed to overwhelm him, making him want to run. 

At the meeting, even though it had been so long, he was overwhelmed by that very same feeling the moment Harry took him in his arms. The way that his perceptive green eyes looked at him - down into his dark soul - and asked how he was doing. After all this time when Louis was unable to pick up the phone or even send a text to check on his friend, Harry still cared. It was honestly too much for him, which was why he was so grateful when the meeting started. 

Although the news had been quite a surprise, Louis had to say that, for the most part, he was happy that One Direction was getting back together. He knew towards the end things were getting rough and borderline toxic, but he never was really ready for it to end. He always had wanted to keep going he loved all the boys - even Harry, maybe even especially Harry. If only he couldn’t look at the younger man with feeling the overwhelming sense of guilt and shame, then maybe he could stand to be in the same room alone with him without panicking and fleeing. 

Which made his time right now very easy, as Harry had yet to arrive at their meeting now in which they were selecting their set for the upcoming tour. He couldn’t help but think that it was quite unlike Harry to be late. In fact, usually, Harry arrived early to all events, and Louis would be the one stumbling in five minutes late with a bad excuse and sheepish shrug. When he worked up the nerve to ask if they should send him a text or perhaps someone should call, however, one of the women in business suits informed them all that Harry was already in the building, but since he’d been so early, staff had taken the opportunity to schedule an appointment - whatever that meant. It reassured Louis that while Harry was safe and sound, he was still slightly concerned. He knew how hard management could be on Harry. While he sat waiting, he disengaged from the boys' conversation, mind swirling with possibilities of what they could be doing to sweet innocent Harry with his big green eyes and dimples. Oh god, was conversion therapy legal in California? No... right?

“Sorry, lads, got held up,” a deep voice said that interrupted Louis’s anxious spiral, but when he looked at Harry, he realized the guilt that he’d felt before was nothing compared to what he felt now. Instead of a fun jumper or shirt, he had on a plain black t-shirt and jeans. All the rings and the pearl necklace he’d had on before were missing, and his once colorful nails were plain again. “You know how hairdressers like to chatter,” he said, which caused Louis to look up, and he almost gasped. His fluffy halo of curls had been cut and styled, turning chaos into order, and on someone else, it would have been nice but clearly not Harry’s style. He looked sad and slightly defeated, but like he was trying to put on a good face. It made Louis feel slightly nauseous. 

Finally breaking the stunned silence, Liam said, “that’s alright, mate. Come on in. We’re just discussing the set.”

“Great,” Harry said and gave a smile like he was trying to convince everyone including himself that he was fine. 

The talk went smoothly. They would sing the top hits from Made in the AM as well as some of the fan favorites. There was a small discussion about if I Want to Write You a Song would replace Little Things in the space where they typically brought things down. The boys, Louis included, wanted to Wrote You a Song since they had sung Little Things so many times. Management disagreed, but in the end, they decided to include both in the set as they had the time. Other than that, however, things went smoothly. 

When it was time to go, the boys stood up ready to go when Niall said, “you lads up for a beer? I think there’s a football match.” For a moment spoke, making it feel quite awkward. “We could go to my regular pub down the way, or my house isn’t but 15 minutes away,” he continued to suggest. 

Louis thought it might be nice, but what if there was an awkward silence or they fought. That would make everything even worse. 

“That sounds great, Niall,” Harry said, ever the polite and kind one. “If it’s not too much to ask, could we please go to your house? I- I don’t want to be recognized if I’m being honest.” His words fumbled towards the end which to Louis revealed exactly how uncomfortable he was currently feeling. 

“Yeah,” Liam added, suddenly jumping in. “Sounds great. Should we follow you back, or do we want to meet up there?”

“How ‘bout we meet up in an hour that way I can make sure that my snacks and beer are fully stocked,” he laughed. “This will be fun.” 

“Can I bring anything?” Harry asked. 

Of course, Harry would ask Louis thought. 

Niall chuckled again, “only your lovely company, Haz!” The boys left the room chatting idly about who was playing, who their teams we, and making light-hearted bets on who would win when Niall asked, “Lou, you’re coming, right?”

“Huh?” he said dumbly. 

“You’ve been quiet,” Niall explained. “We were talking about football, and you didn’t say a word. Are you sick or dying?” he joked. 

“Oh no, I just... don’t know if I can make it,” he said lamely. Honestly, he just wasn’t feeling up to social interaction. Seeing Harry had spiked his anxiety and guilt, and if he was being very honest, he would prefer to get drunk alone at the moment. _Maybe that bad_ , he heard a voice in his head mutter somewhere, but he ignored it. “I- I’m-“ he stuttered trying to think of something. Then, he saw Harry’s eyes fall like Louis was letting him down, and shit, if that wasn’t conflicting. “Well,” he said, “what’s the harm of some beer and football with the lads?” He cracked a smile, trying hard to make it convincing then continued to walk out to the parking lot. 

It would be okay, he told himself as he climbed into his car and drove back to his flat. He would show up have a beer, watch the game, and then head out. Staying long enough to be polite, but not so long that he would wind trying to throw himself out the window to escape his feelings. A delicate balance, a fine line...

~

Niall opened the door and shouted, “Louis!” upon his entering. He was such a good guy, always warm and inviting, never causing any problems. Louis wished he could be more like him. It seemed like everywhere he went he was causing problems, wrecking hearts, and making bad decisions. 

“Niall,” he greeted and let himself be wrapped up in a hug. _Hugs_ , he thought, _been getting more of those lately_... He wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Physical touch used to be so important to him, how he expressed his affection until he’d been told by management that he wasn’t allowed to anymore, that being openly affectionate - even if at the time was only platonic - sent the wrong message. Between yesterday and today, he’d been hugged more than he had since either his mum’s or Felicity’s funeral. _Wow, that’s morbid_ , he thought. The contact felt foreign yesterday, but today it was more familiar, like an old reflex in him was reawakening. He kinda liked the feeling it stirred in his chest and his stomach, almost like a hole that had been there for so long he’d forgotten it was there. 

“Boys are here,” Niall said as pulled back and lead Louis inside. “Come on to the kitchen.  
We’ve got some beer options. Oh, and Harry brought margaritas, and chips and salsa,” he said and laughed as came over pinched Harry’s cheeks teasingly. Harry was pouring himself a margarita as Niall hugged him and said, “although I swore I told him not to bring anything.” 

“I just happened to pass by my favorite local cantina,” he said cheekily and swatted Niall’s hand as he stole a chip from his plate. “Hey!” he protested, but his laugh gave away that he wasn’t being serious. “Besides, I’m not a beer person,” he said, trying to further explain his actions seemingly nervous for a second. 

Louis almost rolled his eyes but thought better. Harry was always worried that he’d done something to hurt someone’s feelings. “You’re fine, Haz,” he interjected while going to the fridge for a beer. It wasn’t until he was opening his drink that he realized that he used Harry’s old pet name. He hadn’t even thought about it. It had just felt natural - right. He looked to see if Harry had noticed, hoping, no praying he hadn’t, knowing that he had over tapped that line again. Harry’s back was turned, but Louis could tell that he’d made him uncomfortable. 

“Lou’s right,” Niall said suddenly, “was just teasing you, but really I’m glad you brought stuff.” He smiled and started collecting other snacks and making his way to the seating area where it looked like the game was just about to start. “As long as you don’t have too many of those,” Niall called back. “They’re a lot stronger than just havin’ a Guinness.” 

For only a moment, Harry and Louis were left alone in the kitchen, but before Louis could even breathe in to say something, Harry made eye contact for a split second and the breath in his lungs left. He looked so vulnerable and... sweet. And then he was gone. Leaving Louis standing awkwardly in the kitchen, bottle in hand, remembering that this was all his fault. His life was empty without those eyes and it was his fault. 

Despite himself, he headed to the couch and took a seat next to Liam, who changed out of the suit he’d been in, eyes glued to the telly in the middle of a swig of beer, looking like a proper lad. “Liam!” he cheered, trying his best to sound undefeated by life. 

“Hey, Lou,” he replied. “What kept ya? I thought that you’d be the first here in your colors and everything.” 

Louis didn’t have the heart to tell the boys that he’d circled the block three times before he got the nerve to pull into the drive. He also didn’t have the heart to tell the boys that he hadn’t been keeping up on football and hadn’t even known the Rover’s were even playing. He’d hadn’t watched a game since... well, he wasn’t sure, but ever since Felicity, he just couldn’t find pleasure in the things he used to love - football being one of them. Even performing had lost some of the rush that he used to feel. He still enjoyed it, but it just wasn’t the same as it used to be - like when he was on stage with boys.

“Just lost track of the time,” he said, but Liam was still giving him a curious look. “You know how I am with keeping things straight. Could be tattooed on me forehead, and I’d forget to look in the mirror,” he joked. That got a laugh out of the boys. They were always trying to get him to show up to things on time, sending him a million text reminders. Harry used to leave sticky notes on walls, cupboards, doors, everywhere to give Louis reminders of appointments, meetings, and interviews. Also being Harry, he’d left sweet notes as well, telling him how great he was doing, saying that he believed in him, cheesy jokes to trying to make him smile while getting his cup in the morning to make tea while Harry was out for his run. He’d never tell Harry, but he’d saved all of those kinds in a shoebox under his bed. On his worst nights, he’d pull them out and wish he could hear Harry say the kind words to him again instead of just having the pieces of paper to remind him of what had been. 

“We’ll have to start texting you reminders,” Liam said. “Although I don’t know if I have your updated number.” 

“I don’t think I changed it,” Louis answered. 

“Oh,” Liam said. “That’s okay then.” He looked like he was telling himself something. The way Liam usually did. Working something out in his head, talking to himself, repeating mantras. 

“What’d ya mean?” he asked. 

“Oh nothing,” he said and turned his attention back to the screen. “I’d sent you a text a while back, and you didn’t answer. Thought maybe you changed your number, but honestly, it’s okay. I know how busy we can all get.”

“Oh,” Louis said, feeling quite guilty. He’d always been bad about answering texts, but recently, he just didn’t have the energy. He knew it was pathetic to not be able to reply to a simple message, and he didn’t know why it felt like such a challenge. There were just days, or weeks rather, where everything just felt like too much, and things, well, feel to the wayside - whether he wanted them to or not. “I’m sorry, I-I must have-“ 

“It’s okay,” Liam assured. 

It wasn’t okay, though. Louis knew it. He’d just have to be better. Starting now, he could be. Right? 

“Goal!” Niall shouted. 

Louis’s attention snapped back to the screen, and sure enough, the Rovers’ had made the first goal. He cheered along with the rest, and settled into the couch, hoping his mind would settle as well. He tried to get back to where he’d been before where there was nothing better than a beer, the lads, and a game. He just wanted to go back to when everything was so much simpler. 

In the end, he’d enjoyed the game, especially since his team won. His mind seemed to give him a break for the night although he was sure the alcohol had helped to numb him.

“Are you sure you should drive?” Niall asked as he was putting on his jacket. Liam had already headed out before the game had even ended to meet up with his girlfriend, and Harry was cleaning up the mess in the living room. “You seem a bit out of it.” 

Louis looked over to where Harry was throwing the bottles into a recycling bin, most of which had been his. “I’ve driven in a worse state than this,” he said, making to head out. 

“That’s not a good excuse,” Niall objected. 

Looking up from the living room Harry suggested, “I could give you a ride.” He looked unsure, but concerned at the same time. 

“There’s an idea!”

Louis froze. This couldn’t be happening. “Trust me. I’m fine,” he said. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Niall said. “Just let Harry give you a ride, and I’ll get someone to bring your car over tonight.”

“I... don’t like people I don’t know driving my cars,” he said lamely. 

“Niall,” Harry said, still looking worried, “are you okay to drive?” Niall nodded. “Great, Louis give Niall your keys. He’ll follow behind us in yours, and then, I’ll take him back here after I drop you off,” he decided, nodding his head. 

“This is all a lot of fuss. Really I’m fi-“

“Perfect,” Niall answered already snatching his keys away as Harry finished picking up and met him at the door. “Let’s go.”

Louis felt numb, sitting inside Harry’s Range Rover. How the hell did he let himself wind up in these situations? The only sounds in the car were the Fleetwood Mac album Harry had playing softly and Louis giving directions every so often. Until Harry blurted, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Louis asked, incredibly confused. 

“I-I know you want space, and I’m not respecting that, and I’m being overbearing it’s just-“ he paused for a moment, and if Louis had any good sense left in him, he would have cut him off. Instead, he just going, “it’s just, if something happened. You were hurt or worse, and I was to blame. Well, I’d never forgive myself.” 

Louis wasn’t sure what to say. Harry was still hanging on to those words he’d told him all those years ago. When he’d been so confused about who he was and his feelings, trying to push it all down, and had lashed out at the worst possible time. This really was his worst nightmare. “Harry,” he said carefully, trying to think. It was times like these he wished that he was more articulate, that he could express himself easier. “I-I...”

“Is this it?” Harry asked. For a moment, Louis wanted to say no and to give him a chance for God’s sake to think of something to say, but then he realized that Harry was pointing at his house. He nodded to confirm as Harry pulled into the drive. 

“You know,” Louis said as he opened the door, thinking as fast as his slow brain would let him, “I’ve... missed this.” 

“Yeah?” Harry asked. His eyes were bright and shiny, looking as though at any moment they were going to spill over. 

“Yeah.”


	4. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: it talks about drugs like, the whole time. I promise it’s relevant. I also promise that the slow burn while still slow and burny will pick up and get to the meat of the plot soon. :)

Harry knew that he was fucking up. Big time. 

He had very strict rules with himself when it came to recreational drugs. In One Direction, especially the early years, he never wanted to touch a thing, but after growing up a little and not wanting to miss out on the fun, he wasn’t as uptight as he used to be about them. They had to strictly be for fun, though – ironically enough. Every time before smoking a joint, dropping acid, or his favorite doing mushrooms, he would ask himself if he was trying to escape his problems or if he was merely having fun with friends or being creative and writing during a trip, an activity which resulted in many of the original ideas for his latest album, which he was honestly the proudest of out of all his work up to this point. After getting older, gaining some perspective, and maybe even relaxing his previous morals, he didn’t see the problem as long as he was responsible enough to know not to drive or do anything else dangerous, having learned that lesson from his window jumping escapade where he bit off part of his tongue while high. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it, though, that was a good trip all things considered. Singing with blood gushing out of his mouth had been slightly annoying, but there was a part of him that had felt cool while doing it – like he was living on the edge or something equally stupid, perhaps. After years of keeping his act completely together and being squeaky clean, he felt entitled to have a little fun every once and a while, and after all, he was in the music industry, not a doctor or other highly important job in which someone would have to be completely sober all the time. 

It had all started innocently enough. He and some of his LA friends had been going out more. Now that he knew he’d be going on tour soon, he wanted to go out and enjoy himself as much as possible. Another rule he gave himself, was that he didn’t allow himself to do anything while on tour. He had to be at his best for his fans. After all, he had to be at his best for the fans, resting as much as possible and keeping body and voice as healthy as possible, something that’s hard to do when constantly high or even drunk, but he had just finished touring Fine Line only a month ago. Now, his old management was slamming back into his life via meetings, photoshoots, practicing the set, and worst of all, getting papped out with the boys so that rumors would start. The tension between Louis and himself was unbearable, so he found himself in his spare time turning not just to his LA friends but the entire lifestyle that surrounded them – the clubs, bars, partying, drinking, and drugs... He knew that he was spending more time than perhaps he should in an altered state of mind, but he told himself it was just because he was about to go on tour again. 

Harry had it under control, though. He was asking himself all the same questions about why he was taking something and keeping up his routine of meditations, therapy, and sleep as much as possible. He told himself, _I won’t become one of those people who wastes away their career, chasing a constant high_. He told himself, _I’m better than that_. He wasn’t sure if he believed it, but that’s what he chose to tell himself. There were some lies you just had to tell yourself in life. 

Then, his management officially released the information that One Direction was back. He knew when it happened right away because his phone started blowing up. He’d been on his couch mid-trip, staring at the ceiling finding patterns in woodwork that weren’t there, thinking about how funny that was, and maybe he could explore that idea. He reached for his phone to open his notes when he saw that his mom and sister had called multiple times. He had 80 new text messages and more coming in as he looked, and of course, his social media was exploding with comments, dm requests, and tweets, with either congratulations or questions if the news was true or not. At first, it was great. People were all so excited that they were together again, and that they were going to tour once more. Places, where tickets were already on sale, were selling out in minutes flat, even the bigger venues. Harry thought the worse thing that could happen was that people would be disappointed Zayn was no longer part of the band, and while some did few that way, it was by no means the worse reaction. The worst was when the “Larry stans” came out of the woodwork again, claiming that all of this was proof of his and Louis’ secret relationship. He should have known that it would be coming, but it still surprised him nonetheless, thinking that people would have moved on by now. 

It was then that his anxiety doubled. Every time he saw a tweet or comment about the two of them, he felt sick, knowing that Louis was going to resent him even more than he already did. He would say that Harry wanted this again. The more anxious he got, the more he could feel it manifesting in him not just emotionally but physically. His head hurt all the time, and his throat constantly felt like something was caught in it or he was on the verge of tears. He couldn’t sleep at night plagued by anxious thoughts, not just about Louis, but everything. Once his mind latched onto something it rabbit holes him down a stream of thoughts that he couldn’t seem to control. Before meetings, he had started to get sick at the thought of seeing Louis, and his heart rate was randomly spiking with no cause or way to calm down. 

He knew he had to do something, but his therapist said that other than doubling up his sessions, which he didn’t have time for especially considering he was about to go on a world tour, the only option was meds. The thought made him upset. He knew it was illogical to be resistant to the thought of anxiety medication, but he just thought that he’d be the person who didn’t need them. Who was stronger than that and didn’t need medical intervention to go about his day to day life. He told his therapist he’d think about it, and she sent the recommendation to his doctor so he could fill the prescription whenever he wanted, which he knew he should be grateful for, but instead, he was merely annoyed. The prescription waiting for him at a pharmacy. Waiting for him to give in and admit that he was as pathetic. 

What happened instead was worse, he knew it was worse, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. In the two months that followed the announcement till when they were scheduled to leave, he just started getting high all the time. Before every meeting, press conference, interview, photoshoot, or anytime he had to see the Yorkshire man, he’d find some way of escape. He knew it was bad and against his own rules, but nothing else was working – not therapy, meditation, journaling, exercise, or any other goddamn coping mechanism that was supposed to make it all go away. If anything, it only made him more anxious and upset that it wasn’t working. His therapist said that when you’re anxious about the fact that you are anxious that was a sign of being under-medicated. He said he’d take that into consideration, which was another lie, but one that he could live with rather than the truth. 

At the moment, Harry sat in his car in front of LA Studios; it was their last meeting before finally taking off to start the tour. He was fifteen minutes early, but instead of going inside like he used to do, he pulled his dab pen out of his glove box. It was from the dispensary and incredibly strong, so he knew to be careful or else he’d be too fucked up to even go in. It was a tricky balance between being able to relax enough that his anxiety would ebb away, but not so much that anyone would know. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to hide his activities. Weed was legal, and he was pretty sure none of the boys would care. There was something, some compulsion in him, though, that told him that it would be bad. That this was very different from what he’d done before, and he needed to hide it. No one could know what he was becoming. 

It was at that moment that a knock on the side of his car startled him causing him to drop his pen and clutch his chest. Niall was peering in through the windows, squinting and yelling, “Haz! You in there?” Right, his windows were tinted, so he couldn’t see Harry, but the still-running engine and softly playing music gave away that he was inside. _Fuck_ , he thought, taking one last big hit from his pen before stashing it, cutting the engine, and getting out of the car. 

“Hey, Niall- Woah,” he exclaimed, losing his balance as he tried to stand. Niall caught him, though, which while Harry was grateful for, made him incredibly embarrassed. That last hit had been really big and one more than he usually took before a meeting. Oh god, he thought, as his head spun and the feeling like he was about to pass out started hitting him in waves, making him feel almost seasick. Worse yet, he could feel his lungs burning, needing to cough. 

“Steady on,” Niall said still gripping his waist to make sure that he wouldn’t be collapsing at any point. “You okay, mate?” 

“Who’s not okay?” another voice asked suddenly. Harry looked over to see a concerned Liam walking up to the two of them. “Harry?” he asked again, now looking him in the eye. Harry’s heart jumped, knowing that Liam had always been the most perceptive of the group and having been through issues abusing alcohol, might be able to tell what was going on – that Harry had just gotten a little too high from that last hit and couldn’t stand straight on his own two feet at the time being. 

“I- um... yeah,” he said, moving out of Niall’s grip so that he could turn back to his car. Leaning on the frame for support, he opened the door and reached in to grab sunglasses and his water. He quickly put on the glasses and started chugging the water, hoping that his eyes weren’t too red yet and that the water would help both his need to cough and the feeling that the world was spinning around him. “Headache,” he muttered after having chugged the water. _Well, shit if that isn’t the worst excuse I’ve ever heard_ , he thought but was unable to come up with anything else.

“Okay,” Liam said slowly, clearly not quite believing what was going on. “Is it a migraine?” he asked, suddenly, like he had a solution to the problem he was working out in his mind and concluded it was the only answer all at the same time. “Is that why you’re dizzy and need sunglasses for the light?” 

He must have thought better of Harry than to show up to a meeting high. The thought made Harry feel even worse, but regardless of that fact, he answered, “Yes!” much too quickly. “I mean, it must be. That makes sense.” 

“Oh no, Haz,” Niall said, looking very sympathetic, “you didn’t have to come in if you were sick.” 

“I didn’t know- I mean, it only happened, I-“ 

“Oh shit, it started while you were driving,” Liam interjected. 

_Thank God for that boy_ , Harry thought. 

“Yes, yup, that’s the one,” he said and basically collapsed on his car as he breathed out a sigh of relief. 

“Come on, let’s get you inside and sit you down,” Liam said and wrapped a strong arm around Harry’s waist, already starting to escort him inside the building. “We’ll get you some pain killers and some caffeine so they start working quicker.” 

“That really isn’t necessary-“ Harry started to say, but then, Niall was on his other side leading him as well, and neither seemed to hear him as Liam kept right on talking. 

“My sister, Ruth, used to get these really bad,” he explained. “Have you been sleeping?” 

“No,” Harry replied honestly for a change. 

“Hazza!” Niall exclaimed. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling quite embarrassed and guilty again and already regretting his moment of honestly about how he was actually doing. 

“Niall didn’t mean it like that,” Liam said sounding exasperated as he pushed Harry down into a chair in the meeting room. _Damn, how’d that happen_ , he thought, wondering how he’d gotten through the building so fast. Time seemed to either be speeding up or slowing down around him at random. “But you do need to sleep more and take care of yourself, especially since we leave in a week,” he said and slid two pills and what looked like a cup of black coffee towards him. 

Harry just stared at them. He didn’t need the pain killers; his whole body was practically going numb. Also, he wasn’t sure if he could mix weed and whatever was in the pills, and as he sat, he was feeling much better. He didn’t want to take something else on top of what he had already put in his body. 

“Harry,” Liam said, giving him a stern look. “I know you’re really into your alternative medicine and doing yoga and meditation and everything like that, instead of the regular stuff, but you need to take this right now.” Oh God, that was why he thought Harry wasn’t taking them. How even more disappointed he would be if he knew the truth. Guilt burning a hole in his stomach, he silently grabbed the pills and took them with the coffee. It was bad, stale coffee but he drank the whole thing because he didn’t want that dad look from Liam again. Thinking he had escaped being “daddied” by Liam he set down the cup and smiled, only to see his friend concerned and worried parent look still in place. “C’m ’ere,” he said softly. 

“Huh?” Harry asked dumbly. 

“I said, come here,” he said again and opened his arms for Harry. He had no choice but to obey and he wrapped up again by Liam’s strong and steady arms. “Speaking of your whole wellness routine...” he said, clearly thinking through how he wanted to handle the issue. “You were always my kid I didn’t have to worry about.” He was referencing back when Liam used to call them all his kids and the one who took care of people when shit hit the fan so to speak either in their personal lives or in the media. As he continued to talk, Liam’s big hand rubbed circles firmly into Harry’s back, and if that wasn’t the best feeling he’d had in a long time he wasn’t sure what was.

He went on, saying, “even when you were going through something, you were so good about taking care of yourself, and now you’re not sleeping? To the point where it’s giving you migraines?” 

For a moment, Harry could feel himself wanting to confess. His high and settled down to the point where he was his normal amount of fucked up that he’d been for the majority of the last two months, but it was the guilt that got him. He could feel it building like pressure in his chest that was pushing its way out of him. 

Liam continued, almost as though he could feel the pressure inside Harry and was squeezing it out of him as he rubbed his back and asked, “what’s going on?”

Harry felt it in his throat now and was sure for a moment that he was about to tell Liam everything. He’d never told the other boys about his sexuality, or what had happened with Louis, or even about the lengths their management made him go to so that he was hiding who he was from the public, but now he could feel it all about to come out along with what had been happening – how he wasn’t having a migraine, how he had been trying desperately to do anything to numb himself for the past two months since the news had broke.

The words almost left his mouth when another voice asked, “yeah, what is going on?”

Harry froze. He knew that voice. He’d never forget it for as long as he lived. It was Louis. 

“Nothing,” he said quickly as he tore himself away from Liam and swallowed the pressure of his confession deep down inside of him where no one would ever find it. 

“Oh hey, Lou,” Liam said as he composed himself, but Harry didn’t miss how annoyed he had been for a moment, clearly having sensed with his insane dad skills that Harry had been about to tell him what was wrong and Louis ruined it. “How long have you been there? Harry’s got a migraine, and we were just having a little conversation about what we think might be the reason it came on.” Liam gave Harry a look that said they’d be discussing it later, and Harry’s heart sank, having been thinking – despite the horribly ironic twist – Louis had saved him. 

“Ah,” he said looking Harry over, assessing him. He was clearly taking in the sunglasses and that fact that Harry probably looked like was a disaster, even without the fact that he moments ago was just being held by Liam as though he were a four-year-old like Liam’s actual son. “I see,” he continued, “I just walked in and heard you asking him what was going on while he was curled up on your lap, and I wasn’t sure what to think.” 

Louis had a strange look in his eye. Harry knew it was probably the fact that he was high, but he thought for a second it was Louis’ famously jealous streak making an appearance. When he got like that, he’d get angrier and angrier until cuss out paparazzi, throw things, or worse. Harry had seen in real-time, but there was no reason for him to be jealous now. Unless maybe something had happened before he came in that had set him off, and he was still dealing from that. Probably something with Brianna. Over the past few months during the time that Harry had spent with Louis – that he could remember – he had talked frequently about how the mother of Freddy was controlling, demanding, and rarely let him see his son. 

Deciding that must have been it, Harry settled back into his chair, and waited for the meeting to begin so that he could get back into his routine of being zoned out in his high while management told him what to do and he would be to numb to be upset about it. Just as he was settling into his high, he heard Louis say, “hope you feel better soon.”

 _So do I_ , Harry thought dryly before letting his body drift and just enjoy the sensation of floating in the conference room while the people around made up their minds about who he was, where he would go, and whatever ever else they wanted him to be. Meanwhile, he would just float above their heads while his head finally slowed down from the racing urgency of his anxiety and let him relax. The pressure inside that had him reaching for help dissipated. He could feel the arm that had been extended for just a moment to Liam come back down as the darkness swallowed him whole, and he embraced it like an old friend. 

~

When the meeting was over, Harry could feel himself coming down from his high, and he reluctantly let himself crawl out of the comfort of the darkness. After all, he had rules, didn’t he? And he couldn’t drive high. That was a rule. 

Both Liam and Niall made a big fuss about him driving but he said that he was feeling much better, the pain killer and coffee were working, and that he wanted to go and have a nap. They seemed to believe him easily enough because they agreed, and began to walk out. As Harry reached the door, he felt someone snatch his wrist and pull him back. Still not quite with it, he stumbled back and have fallen, but the person he had grabbed him also caught him and said, “go ahead, boys. I just want a quick word with Harry.” 

Harry froze. It was Louis. Louis who had grabbed him. Louis who was holding him. Louis wanted to talk to him. _Louis._

He was going to bring up the rumors again. He was going to yell at him, he just knew it. Harry could feel himself shaking and his breath and heart rate picking up. The lump in his throat was back and all he wanted was to be floating again. He considered making a run for it, but his now sober mind wouldn’t let him. So he just was still as the other boys nodded, albeit hesitantly and confused, and left the two while Louis closed the door on them, leaving him alone. Subconsciously, he backed up as the older man turned back around and approached him until he felt the table hit his thighs and was trapped with nowhere else to go. 

Louis reached up, and Harry braced himself. His whole body went stiff and his eyes squeezed shut. He thought that Louis was just going to yell, he didn’t think he was going to hit him. As he decided just to take it he felt his sunglasses being taken off. 

“Open your eyes,” he heard Louis say. As he opened them and looked into the other man’s eyes, he felt his heart rate skyrocket, wondering what power-trip Louis was on right now. “I knew it. You’re high.” 

Oh... that had not been what he was expecting but was bad nonetheless. He felt the room start to spin again, and the lump in his throat was back, making it feel impossible to breathe. His eyes slammed back shut as he tried to focus on breathing and not dying of mortification. Not only did someone know, but Louis knew which was so much worse. If he figured out why, he would be so angry, telling Harry that the whole thing had been his fault in the first place, so he should just deal with it head-on, not escape the first time things got a little hard. 

“I- I thought-“ he tried to articulate that he thought Louis was mad at him for a while other reason and while part of him was relieved that he wasn’t mad over that, he was just so scared now. 

“Thought what? I wouldn’t figure it out? You’re not the first person I’ve seen like this. I’ve learned how to read the signs,” Louis said. 

_Fizz_ , Harry thought. _Oh god, sweet Felicity, his sister overdosed_. Harry had even been at the funeral. Louis must be beyond pissed at him right now. 

“Alright, fess up, what are you on?” he asked plainly. “It’s clearly not uppers since you’ve been half dead the whole meeting instead of breaking shit, so what is it? Pills?” 

“No!” Harry exclaimed. “No, it’s just- just weed,” he said stumbling through his words because of how nervous he was. Louis gave him a look like he didn’t believe it. “I hit my dab pen in my car before the meeting,” he admitted. “That’s why you can’t smell it.”

“Are you serious? Before coming into your work? You decided that was the best time to get stoned? And tricking Liam and Ni into thinking that you were sick. What’s going on with that?” he asked the questions rapid-fire, and although Harry knew they were rhetorical, he felt the need to either defend himself or something. 

The or something manifested into an apology as he cried out, “I’m sorry!” As the words leaked out, so did his tears. He didn’t mean for it to happen, but he could feel them sliding down his cheeks to his neck as he gasped for air. 

Silently Louis took him into his arms and held him close. If Harry had been thinking clearly, he would have felt bad for making Louis do this, but at the moment, he just felt so space in his arms. Unconsciously, he felt himself sit down on the table so that even though he was taller, he could hide his face in the standing man’s chest. Louis used one hand to run circles on his back and the other to run his fingers through his curls while Harry let out a broken sob. 

“Harry, this isn’t like you,” he said in earnest, trying to figure out what was going on. He might have put some space between them, but he knew his Harry. “What’s going on with that? Sweetie, are you sure it’s just weed?” He hadn’t meant to let the pet name slip out, but he was in comfort mode and couldn’t help it. Harry was clearly in distress and needed comfort. 

“Yeah,” he answered. Then paused and admitted, “right now.” 

“What else?” he asked while still trying to keep his voice gentle. 

“Acid and shrooms,” he said shyly, “but I don’t go out like that.” 

If Louis wasn’t so concerned, he’d laugh about how Harry it was to be a complete hippie, tripping on shrooms and talking about treating people with kindness. 

“Well, I’m glad that you’re not going on tripping,” he said which got a small laugh out of Harry, “and as long as you’re being honest about what you’re on, I don’t think it’s as big of a deal as I made it at first.” He paused for a moment and then, thoughtfully said, “I’m sorry if I scared you.” 

“I thought-“ Harry started, unsure how to continue, “I thought you were upset again... you know about the- the fans...” he drifted off. 

“What do you mean?”

“I- I... nothing,” he said. “Forget I said anything.” 

“Okay,” Louis said slowly. “I have to ask, though, Harry.” 

“What?” Harry asked too embarrassed to look up from Louis’ chest, so he kept himself hidden and let himself float on a different high of being held in Louis's embrace. 

“This just, it isn’t like you, Hazzy. Why on Earth were you getting high before work?” 

Harry’s heart stopped. How could he explain to the man that inadvertently been the reason he was getting high before ever having to see him and anytime he thought about him in between? It was impossible. 

“I don’t know, it’s just when the news broke the press and to the fans-“ 

“I’m sorry,” Louis interrupted. “This has been going on since we announced to the public we’re getting back together? That’s two months!” he exclaimed suddenly angry again.

Harry withdrew himself from Louis, scared and anxious. The older man attempted to control himself again by taking a deep breath. He had intervened too late once before, he wouldn’t let that happen again. 

“Harry, I know that you’re not doing the hard stuff, and I’m so grateful for that, but why in the world have you been doing this for so long, especially without telling someone?”

“I- I don’t know... I’ve been stressed,” he said weakly. It wasn’t exactly a lie. He was stressed. Louis was looking at him, though, staring deep into his eyes Harry felt the pressure inside him build again, and the longer he sat the more he was sure that he was going to explode, until, “I’m just- I’m anxious. All the time, and I’ve- I’ve tried everything, really – meditating, running, journaling, therapy, you name it. Please, Lou, please believe me please...” he broke off into sobs and mutters of please while Louis took him back into his arms, holding him tight. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “That does sound awful, Harry, but please, this isn’t the answer.”

“I know, I know,” he said collecting himself. “We leave in a week,” he said, and Louis nodded. “I don’t do anything on tour, never have. By then, I promise, I’ll be clean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im also on Wattpad @coffee_and_sunrises


	5. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inciting event that will be the focus the rest of the story happens!!!

Harry was – in fact – not clean. He had tried. Honestly, he did, but the constant anxiety wore down his resilience until he was quite literally a walking disaster. 

The first couple of days had been alright. The anxiety was there, but he’d been determined to fend it off with his healthy coping mechanisms. The problem was the same as before, though. They, simply, weren’t working. His meditation sessions wound up being stopped early because he got too frustrated that he was unable to relax and clear his mind like he used to be able to. Perhaps, for a few minutes during or after a run, he felt some relief, but within minutes, everything came creeping back. He only tried to journal once after he wound up ruining the journal because he got so mad at himself for bit being able to handle his own emotions that his pen stabbed through the pages. For a moment, the sensation felt so good that he went to town stabbing and shredding the pages, feeling the adrenaline rush through his veins as he tore it apart. When he was done, he threw the journal against the wall in his rage and sat breathing heavily for a moment, only to realize that he still felt like shit, and all he’d done was ruin a perfectly good journal. 

Nothing offered any distraction from it. Movies, T.V. shows, and even music weren’t enough to get rid of the tight feeling in his chest and a constant lump in his throat. He didn’t even like to think about his sleep schedule and how messed up that was. His new normal since trying to get completely clean was staying up all night and finding random projects or things to fiddle with throughout the night, and maybe catching a nap for a few hours during the day. It had gotten bad enough that he had started getting actual migraines from his lack of sleep and overall level of frustration. 

His therapist – of course – was still pushing meds. She’s gone as far as actually filling the prescription, and telling him to just go pick it up so that he had it when the tour started. She reminded him that during the tour they wouldn’t be able to have his normal sessions. It wasn’t just because of the distance as she did do online sessions, but because of the hours, he kept on tour – always awake at strange times, changing time zones every few weeks, and never seemed to have enough downtime to work into Anna’s schedule. 

After a session of her pushing it, he finally conceded, agreeing to pick up the meds, but made no promises of starting them yet. She, of course, urged him to start right away, explains that they had a side effect of making the person sick for about a week or so when the body was first adjusting, which was – apparently – common with antidepressants, according to her. That fact did nothing for Harry when it came to convincing him to take the medication, but she insisted if he started right away that he would be alright by the first few days of the tour beginning. 

True to his word, Harry picked up the pills and listened as the pharmacist explained the same side effects that his therapist had while also informing him that if he should feel worse for any reason he should call his doctor or the ER right away.

 _Great_ , he thought, _there’s a chance I’ll feel worse_. 

Harry already knew that he wasn’t planning on taking them, so he wasn’t sure why he was so mad at the idea of feeling worse when it wouldn’t even happen if he didn’t take them in the first place. Still, something about the thought that these were supposed to fix people’s problems, and there was a chance they might make them worse, made Harry on edge. Although, everything was making Harry on edge since he’d laid off his other, more fun, coping mechanisms. 

When he got home, he set the pills on his kitchen island, and they had been there ever since, silently watching and judging his every move. He was aware that he could put them away somewhere he didn’t have to see them, but he wanted to look at them. He was in such a state of self pity and loathing that he wanted to feel judgment’s eyes on him at all times and to stare right back. He wanted to revel in the feeling. 

It was the third day after the meeting and the second day after his therapy appointment and picking up the pills, when he finally broke down. The symptoms of his anxiety having worn him down to the point where he was unable to move from his position lying on the couch for several hours as his heart raced for no apparent reason as his skin crawled and itched like it didn’t belong on his body when he gave in. He checked the texts he’d been ignoring from his LA partying friends and typed out a message saying that he wanted to go out, get real fucked up, more than they’d ever done before. He wanted them to break out the hard stuff and didn’t care about the consequences. As he typed it out, he looked at the bottle of judgment staring at him from the kitchen island, and with the feeling of defeat and misery, he hit send, accepting whatever fate was in store for him. 

~

Harry couldn’t remember most of what happened the rest of that time. There were gaps and holes in his memory where he knew time had passed because he and his friends were in a new location, but couldn’t recall how he’d gotten there. All he could recall was blurs of dancing and sweating in between taking shots and hits of whatever was offered to him. In the moment, though, the only thought he had was that he didn’t feel bad, and he just didn’t want that to stop. 

Of course, it came to a crashing halt in the airport as he sat with his carry-on and the boys sitting next to him. All of them, even Louis, seemed to be trying to engage him in conversation, but he told them all that he was tired and just wanted some rest, which in a sense was true. They nodded and told him to shut his eyes until they were ready to board, and then, he could sleep easy on the place, but Harry saw the looks they exchanged before he completely shut his eyes. 

In actuality, Harry had to close his eyes, or else he was sure he’d throw up. Although, he wasn’t quite sure if there was anything in him to throw up other than bile because he couldn’t recall eating anything in the past three days, but then again, he couldn’t remember getting to the airport, or even packing his bags beforehand. One moment he’d crashed on his couch after his bender, the next he was in the airport, waiting for the plane and having to endure the concerned looks from the boys – especially Louis. 

As the boys talked quietly, he shut his eyes and tuned them out. After a bit, he felt Niall nudging him gently and telling him it was time to get on the plane. Harry was relieved to find out that they had decided to take their private jet to start the tour, meaning there would be a bed Harry could lay down in. Niall pulled him up when Harry made no attempt to get up. He tried to object, not wanting to be a bother, but Niall just shook his head and kept guiding him toward the entrance of the plane. As Harry moved, he could feel his stomach churn. 

“Ni, please stop,” he whimpered. Niall halted in place upon hearing it and looked over to see Harry had turned an even whiter shade of pale and was swaying on his feet. He grabbed Harry by his sides to steady him again. 

“Hey, Harry, what’s going on?” Niall asked. 

“I feel sick,” he said. 

“Oh shit.” 

Niall grabbed Harry and lead him to the nearest trash can where he emptied his stomach. His last un-foggy thought was wondering what he ate or drank that was orange before remembering that he was most likely just straight stomach acid. 

_Oh, that's probably bad_ , he thought, before his vision blurred like a mist that was enclosing all around him and made time feel as though it was speeding up around him. 

All he could do was feel the sensations around him, but like a ghost, he was unable to reach out and ground himself in time or even the people around him. That’s all he was – just a ghost in a fog, wandering through life without the comfort of others. 

He was vaguely aware that the boys were helping him up and ushering him into the plane, Louis with his bag and Liam and Niall on either side. When his brain caught up to what was happening, he tried to object, claiming he was just fine and didn’t need help, but the boys wouldn’t listen to him. They just kept saying that he was okay and that they’d have him settled in just a second, which was exactly what they did. Louis put his bag overhead while Niall pulled out one of the beds, and Liam held on to Harry making sure that he didn’t collapse. 

After a few short moments or maybe several minutes – there was no way for Harry to tell at this point – he was pushed into the soft mattress, where he fell into a restless and feverish sleep. 

~ 

Harry couldn’t feel any sensations in his body, and as he looked around, all he could see was the fog – the same from before – surrounding him. He tried to run away from it, but soon found it was impossible. The fog was all consuming and mind-numbing. It clung to his skin like leeches all over his body and took away his ability to move or feel the deeper he ran into it. 

The worst part, though, was the voices. Mostly, it sounded like muffled words, but it didn’t matter. A voice meant a body – someone else in the fog – but he could never get close enough to see the person, let alone get help. Through the garbled words, Harry strived to understand just a few words out of the sentences, and everyone once and a while a word or phrase would become clear, such as anxiety, poor thing, or once he thought he even heard his name. He couldn’t be sure, though. 

Finally, in a desperate plea, he tried to call out – to scream for help – but couldn’t. When he opened his mouth, fog entered and crept its way into his lungs, numbing his whole throat and insides on the way down. He wanted to cough it out, but there was no alternative. Drowning in the fog was the only option. He was stuck. 

Just as he closed his eyes to accept his fate, he heard a voice, clear as day say, “Harry.”

~

Harry gasped and sat up. The fog was gone, but he couldn’t stop shaking and looking around, expecting it to appear at any moment and take him over again. Even though he wasn’t numb anymore, he swore that he could still feel a layer of it on his skin and inside his lungs because it felt so hard to breathe. There couldn’t be any other explanation. 

“Hey, hey, Harry, it’s okay,” a voice said. Harry jumped violently like a scared cat as the voice had startled him.

 _The voices are back_. He shook as he curled in on himself and panicked as he thought, _it won’t be long before the fog follows_. 

“Woah,” it reacted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, Haz.” When Harry just squeezed himself into a tighter ball, it said, “it was just a nightmare. It’s okay.” Suddenly, he remembered that he was on the private jet and that he wasn’t alone. 

He opened his eyes to see Liam sitting beside the bed and looking extremely worried. When he looked down, he saw that there weren’t remnants of mist on his body, only his own sweat, and as he took a shaky deep breath, the only thing inside his lungs was air. While Liam sat on the floor next to him, the other boys had unfolded the other beds and were laying in them fast asleep which Harry found odd. Why wasn’t Liam taking a nap like everyone else? 

“You’ve been out for about an hour, but...” he trailed off and scratched his head, clearly unsure how to continue. 

“What?” Harry asked. His voice sounded terrible, even to himself. He couldn’t imagine how pathetic he sounded to Liam, and he didn’t even want to think about how he looked. 

“Can I sit by you?” Liam asked. After Harry nodded, Liam climbed up next to him. Tentatively, he wrapped a blanket around Harry and tucked him into his side. If the physical contact hadn’t felt so good, Harry would have objected, but insttead, he just let himself be handled and comforted by his old friend as he started to speak again. “The thing is...” he paused again, uncomfortable and unsure. 

“It’s okay,” Harry said, just wanting him to get on with it, although he was pretty sure he knew what was coming. “Just get out with it.” 

“You know, we never did get to have that chat about what was bothering you,” Liam said, seemingly trying a different tactic than whatever he had planned before, “but it seems Louis beat me to it.” 

_He knows_ , Harry thought. _Oh god, here it comes_. His heart rate quickened. 

When Liam felt Harry go still and stiff, he said, “don’t get mad at Louis. Niall and I were hounding him when...” 

_It was clear that I had been on a bender for the last few days_ , Harry’s head supplied. 

“When you were crying and shaking and whimpering in your sleep.” 

_Oh_ , he thought. 

“We were really scared, and then Louis explained that you’ve been having really bad anxiety, and that-“ 

_I’ve been using_. 

“-you’re having a lot of problems coping,” he finished. 

_You could say that_. 

“We’ve been taking turns sitting here, and trying to calm you down while the others slept,” he explained which made Harry feel rather guilty, but Liam kept going anyway. “I just want you to know, Harry,” he said, taking a moment to make Harry look him in the eyes. “We’re here for you, and we understand. We’re gonna help you get through this. Alright?”

“Alright...” Harry agreed, albeit slowly. How could Liam be so casual about this whole thing? He thought Liam would have grounded the plane by now and checked him into a hospital by now if he knew. Then a thought came to Harry. “Liam,” he said. “Was my... my anxiety all you talked about?” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...” Harry struggled to find a way to get his answers that didn’t seem suspicious. “When Lou was talking about our talk, all he brought up was my anxiety.”

“Yeah...” Liam affirmed slowly. “Is there anything else we need to know?” 

“No.”

Perhaps, Harry should have just admitted to the actual issue, but he rationalized that by the time shows were starting, he’d be fine. There was a day of traveling and three more days before the first show. He was sure that by then all the symptoms of him coming down and the withdrawal would be gone, and anything that wasn’t, he could either blame his anxiety. It would be easy. 

Liam let Harry lay back down and told him to rest for the rest of the trip which was what Harry did. Although he couldn’t sleep, he did rest, and pretended not to notice when one of the boys would wake another up and tell them to go sit by Harry. He just pretended to be asleep and let his mind wonder, especially when it was Louis’s turn and he spent his time silently rubbing Harry’s back in an absent minded manor. Occasionally his hand would wonder and play with Harry’s hair, and he swore he heard Louis mutter something about a stupid haircut, as though he was mad about the cut management had made him get. If he enjoyed it more than he should, he didn’t say anything, but couldn’t help the tiny whimper that left his mouth when Louis left and Niall replaced him. If anyone noticed, they didn’t say anything. 

When the plane finally landed, the boys got off and had a quick and quiet trip to the hotel where they all muttered their goodnights and went to their separate rooms. Harry didn’t waste time changing clothes or taking a shower. He fell straight into bed and let sleep take over his body, hoping that this time there would be no dreams plaguing him. 

He got his wish, but he was woken up much earlier than he wanted by a loud knocking on his door. Slowly, as if still unsure if it was real or not, he rolled out of bed landing on all fours, and crawled a little towards the noise before he found some dignity in himself and stood up to walk the rest of the way. He opened the door to see Niall standing in the hallway, looking refreshed, but not over-enthusiastic which worried Harry. 

“Hey, Haz, we gotta go to the venue,” he said. 

“What?” Surely, he hadn’t slept for two whole days. It wasn’t possible. When he checked his phone, he saw that he was right there were still two more days till their first show. 

“We’ve got the cue to cue, remember?” 

_Of course_ , he thought. A cue to cue was a long and tedious process in which they went through the entire set, starting and stopping to let the crew figure out all the technical elements making sure the lights, sound effects, and other effects were happening at the desired time. While important, they took a long time, and usually, no one, including the crew, enjoyed the painstaking process. 

“Oh right,” he fumbled and checked the time. “When do we have to go?” 

“About half an hour,” Niall said. “The rest of the boys are getting breakfast at the restaurant, so change quick and join us. You look like you could use a good meal.” Harry knew Niall was joking, but it still stung just a bit. It meant that Harry truly looked just about as bad as he felt. 

“I gotta shower and stuff, so we’ll see,” Harry said, and when Niall looked entirely unpleased, he added, “I’ll go as fast as I can. I promise.”

Niall nodded and walked off while Harry shut the door and got to work on making himself look presentable, but still comfortable for a long, tedious day. Already, he wasn’t feeling well, still tired – perhaps only because he anticipated more sleep or simply because he truly needed it as he was still in the long process of coming down. The shower helped, though. Washing up, the whole process, made him feel more human and less like a creature from getting the grease and glitter from the clubs out of his hair to removing the disgusting sweat infused with drugs and alcohol smell with his lavender body wash that he was so happy that he remembered even while high. For a while, he just stood in the shower and let the hot water run down him and warm his body. He hadn’t been able to get warm in forever, but while the hot water provided some much need comfort, he knew that he already had spent too long getting ready. He forced himself out of the shower and after towel drying his body and hair found a comfortable pair of sweatpants and hoodie for the day. They would hopefully help him keep warm as his hair air-dried. 

Just as he was about to leave, he saw a small shiny object poking out of the small outer pocket of his bag. He recognized it immediately – his dab pen. He thought about it for a moment, extremely tempted. On one hand, Louis had been able to tell last time, and maybe, this wasn’t the best idea. On the other, the thought of spending a long, stressful day with Louis had Harry’s heart racing and the symptoms of his anxiety creeping back. There was also his pounding head and the sick feeling in his stomach which the weed would numb. He knew he had rules, but they weren’t actually performing today. It would be okay. 

Feeling impulsive he grabbed it and took a few hits, already feeling his senses relax. Before he left, he popped some eye drops in so that no one would be the wiser and was on his way, appearing to the whole world to be the happy go lucky kid they all knew and loved. 

He found the other lads around the back of the hotel, waiting near the car. He felt a little guilty as it looked like he was keeping them, but if they were upset, they didn’t say anything about it. They all greeted Harry happily and wished him good morning. Liam even gave him a warm hug that made Harry’s worries subside. Once they were all settled with Louis up front next to the driver and the rest spread out in the back they made their way to the stadium, ready for the long day ahead. 

Two hours in, and it was going about as well as all the boys expected. They were trying to be patient, though, as they were asked to start and stop over and over again, and the technicians worked out the lighting patterns and sound cues. 

Unbeknownst to them, above their heads, a stagehand was attempting to fix a light on the catwalk. He figured the bolt was either stuck or rusted because it refused to move along with all the others and had gone up to take it off and take a look. The bolt was stubborn, though, and no matter how hard he pushed with his heavy ratchet, it wouldn’t budge. He tried to adjust his grip to give it one last go, but as he did the tool slipped from his hand and fell to the stage below. For a moment he looked on in shock as it fell directly towards the men on stage before coming to his senses and shouting, “heads!” hoping he wasn’t too late. 

Harry looked up when he heard the call of heads, and perhaps had he been sober, he would have had an appropriate reaction to the heavy looking object falling straight towards him. Instead, he just looked away and braced for impact, and after several horrible moments of gut-clenching anticipation, it came as a hard thud on his head before everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write faster for kudos and comments, just sayin.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, it's an overused trope, but let's just have fun with it, ya know? Also I won’t be using 1D’s actually managements names because idk I don’t want to be rude I guess. Anyways enjoy.


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